


In Which The Archives Are Donna Noble's Oyster

by xxMOONLITsky



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxMOONLITsky/pseuds/xxMOONLITsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Donna Noble has found herself working for Torchwood, and loving the hidden treasures of the archives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which The Archives Are Donna Noble's Oyster

**Author's Note:**

> My first DW/TW fic. *cheers* Written kind of spur-of-the-moment after having dreamed about Owen and Donna, and how absolutely perfect they are for each other. (The dream was actually rather tragic, but no sadness here. Just pure fun.)

“THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!” Donna’s voice practically sang, echoing throughout the spacious hallways of Torchwood’s archives.  
  
It was midway through the afternoon on a Friday, and it had been one hell of a week. The team had practically run itself to the ground, what with three outbreaks of weevil attacks and the rift deciding halfway through Tuesday to spit hubcaps at random passing cars. All in all, everyone was tired and wanted nothing more than to go home for the weekend, have a hot shower or bath, and forget about the aliens that troubled their little blue and green homeworld until Monday morning. Unfortunately, Friday was not over yet, and Torchwood’s finest had to find something to occupy their time for a couple more hours.

Donna, being easily distractible and having finished her stack of paperwork hours earlier, had grown tired of sitting at her desk doing nothing, and as she was wont to do, commenced wandering around the hub. The main room of the hub had led her (eventually) to the Archives, whose endless hallways often kept her entertained for a couple hours (at the very least). Today, as opposed to randomly hunting through drawers (although simultaneously making sure to put everything back exactly how she found it lest Ianto kill her), she had stumbled upon a room she’d never found before — one that was almost an exact replica of the Wardrobe Room in the TARDIS. Upon realizing where she was, her face had lit up — JACKPOT.  
  
“That’s such a  _girl_  thing to say.”  
  
The voice shattered the silence, startling Donna, who whirled around to find the source of the noise.  
  
“Oi,” she replied, staring down the newcomer, “since when have you been sexist, Harper?”  
  
She paused, then grinned, her expression matching his.  
  
“Well,  _that_  sexist, anyway. And that’s not what I meant. S’not like I want a new dress or nothing. Look at it this way — ” she turned around, gesturing at the seemingly endless racks of clothes — “they’re all costumes!”  
  
Turning back around, still grinning, she took in Owen’s contemplative look. As she watched, he nodded slowly, as if accepting that her conclusion wasn’t  _totally_  bonkers and might actually be worth something. A grin slowly etched its way across Donna’s face as she turned away from the doctor and flounced towards the closest racks of clothes, almost instantly beginning to babble as she sorted through the stock.  
  
“I mean, just look at this stuff! Half of it’s not from this time period — forwards or backwards, can’t quite tell which — not that it matters — half’s not women’s clothing, and half’s probably not even from this planet!” she paused, her hand lingering on a women’s flapper dress from the early nineteen-twenties. “I think that’s too many halves…”  
“It is,” Owen piped up, his voice a little louder from having taken a couple of steps forward. “But continue. I’m amused.”  
“Oh, but of course,” Donna replied, throwing him a mischievous grin, “anything to amuse you, Owen.”  
  
Turning back to rustling through the racks, Donna continued.  
  
“But anyway, it’s not like it matters. That’s part of the fun of it being a costume, yeah? It doesn’t have to look  _right_ , it just has to be — OH MY GOD.”  
  
Donna stopped her shuffling, a grin rapidly spreading across her face as she looked at the article of clothing clutched in her right hand. Owen, standing a couple of steps behind her and slightly off to the side, couldn’t catch a clear view.  
  
“What? Are we all dead? Noble, what’d you do?”  
  
Donna poked her head farther into the rack, attempting to wrestle the offending article of clothing off its hanger as she shot back a retort.  
  
“I didn’t do  _anything_ , thank you very much, and we’re all very much fine. But I BLOODY LOVE TORCHWOOD.”  
  
Owen shot Donna a look that clearly said ‘you’ve lost your mind,’ but he was grinning as he took in her bouncing figure. She wanted to continue bouncing — after all, this was exciting! - but soon stopped when it dawned on her that it was nearly impossible to put on another layer of clothing while doing so. All Owen could see from his vantage point was a flash of grey before Donna turned around, chest puffed out.  
  
“What’re you doing just standing there gaping at me, Harper?” Donna asked in a ridiculous American accent (which was only made worse by the fact that she was grinning from ear to ear). “I mean, I know I’m fucking gorgeous, but still. Don’t you have work to do?”  
  
Owen opened and closed his mouth several times, trying and failing to find the proper words, before cracking up.  
  
“I’m being serious here,” Donna said, still grinning as she walked over (failing to mimic Jack’s swagger) and poked Owen in the chest. “I’m Jack Harkness. I run this place. What I say goes, and that means if I tell you to get back to work, you do. If I tell you to jump into Cardiff Bay, you better damn well say “yes, sir” and get your ass outside pronto. Do I make myself clear?”  
  
Owen, who was still laughing so hard that practically no sound was coming out, suddenly straightened up, eyes wide.  
  
“Oh, now you get it,” Donna said, poking Owen again. “I’m not somebody to be trifled with. I’m Jack fucking Harkness, and — ”  
“- you are wearing my coat.”  
  
With the addition of the new voice, the sound that came out of Donna’s mouth as she whirled around to face its owner could only be described as  _“eep!”_  Standing about two paces away, grinning like a loon, was none other than Jack. Donna opened her mouth, having absolutely  _no idea_  what she was going to say, as Owen cracked up again, his laughter ringing throughout the chamber.  
  
“Jack, I — well — I thought — and all the clothes — ” Donna gestured as she babbled, hoping that she hadn’t just blown her career at Torchwood.  
“Lemme just stop you,” Jack said, still grinning as he put a hand on Donna’s shoulder. “Cute, I’ll definitely give it that, but you’re not tall enough to rock a coat like this.”  
  
Donna’s eyes widened as she opened her mouth to snap back, but Jack just patted her on the shoulder before starting to walk away.  
  
“When you’re done playing with it, put it back on the rack, yeah? I have plans for that coat tonight and want to be able to find it on short notice.”  
  
Donna flushed bright red as Owen let out a  _“I did not want to know that, thanks!”_  Jack’s laughter rang throughout the chamber as he left, headed out toward the main room of the hub. Yep, it was just another Friday afternoon at Torchwood.


End file.
